


Sweet Peas and Smoke

by Katyakora



Series: Killerwave Week [11]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/M, First Tattoo, KillerWaveWeek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katyakora/pseuds/Katyakora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talking the florist next door into getting her first tattoo was not how Mick expected to spend his evening</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Peas and Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> For Killerwave Week 2 Day 4 - Firsts
> 
> This is Part 1 of a Tattoo Parlour/Flower Shop AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no tattoos, everything I know about them came from bugging my flatmate with questions, so apologies for any inaccuracies.  
> All the flower language stuff came from a quick google search

“Um, excuse me?”

 

Mick looked up sharply when the voice reached his ears. He’d closed up for the night, the front door securely locked, so the only direction it could have come from was the back door. Sure enough, a woman stood in the doorway, one hand poised against the doorjam where she’d probably been knocking. Hastily, he turned the music down and stood up. Having gotten his attention, she stepped over the threshold, and he recognised her as his neighbour, the botanist who owned the flower shop next door. He’d seen her on occasion, mostly when he was on his way to and from his shop. She’d caught his eye with her shining auburn waves and pretty hazel eyes, but he’d remembered her because she always seemed to look a little sad when she thought no one was looking.

 

“I think someone mixed up our addresses,” she explained, holding out a package with his name on it.

 

“Guess so.” He took the package, guessing from the weight of it that it must be the graphic novels he’d ordered the last time he and Len got drunk and spent an hour arguing about the supervillain teams. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She garnished the sentiment with a small smile. Just like pretty much everyone who entered his place for the first time, her eyes couldn’t help but drift to the artwork on the walls. He smirked a little smugly at the look of wonder on her face as she really took in her surroundings. He, Shawna, Lisa and Axel had spent days decorating the walls when he first bought the place. Bare space had been left at the front for displays, but the back of the parlour where the tattooing took place was one big, intricate mural with a dozen different art styles clashing and merging in glorious chaos. He was rather proud of it.

 

Her wandering gaze stopped on the wall near his chair, a soft ‘oh’ escaping her lips. He’s done that particular wall himself, the phoenix he’d drawn based off the same one tattooed on his back, only made of smoke instead of fire. He hadn’t been sure if the effect would work at the time, but once it was done, he’d loved it. 

 

He chuckled softly. “What are you imagining?”

 

“What?” she asked, her head whipping back to face him with a light blush dusting her cheeks. He crossed his impressive arms, noting the way her eyes traced the ink on them. His smirk widened.

 

“I know that look. See it every day; that moment when a person gets the perfect picture in their head of the ink they want. So, what were you imagining?”

 

“I wasn’t, I just...I was thinking, earlier, about flower language-”

 

“Flower language?” Mick interrupted, wondering if she was more of a hippy than she looked.

 

“It’s an old system; each flower has a different meaning so a bouquet can actually be a pretty nuanced message,” she explained, seemingly automatically. “And, well, I always told my husband that if he got up the courage to get a tattoo, I’d get one too.” Her face fell a little as she spoke and Mick suddenly understood why she always looked so sad. “He died, a couple of years ago. And I walk past here every day and think to myself that one day I’ll get one, for him. But…”

 

“Couldn’t pick something?” he offered softly. She smiled sadly and shook her head.

 

“Always knew what I wanted, even before he died. Sweet pea flowers, the first gift he ever gave me. Stolen from his neighbours garden no less. Seems fitting, since they mean a pleasant goodbye. Maybe with a few forget-me-nots thrown in. I just couldn’t decide  _ how  _ I wanted them…” Her eyes drifted back to the phoenix.

 

“Smoke?” he guessed. She nodded.

 

“It’s ephemeral. Fleeting. Like flowers. Like life.” She was sad again, staring at his phoenix like it knew all the answers. Mick, however, felt his imagination spark. The way she spoke resonated with him, and he didn’t remember picking up his pencil or pulling his artpad over but they were in his hands now, the ghost of an image making it’s way from his fingers to the paper. Half remembered silhouettes of what a sweet pea looked like (he’d tattooed a LOT of flowers over his career) rising from a handful of shadowy star-shaped forget-me-nots. They must have both gotten a little lost in the art because she jumped a little the next time he spoke.

 

“Colour?”

 

“Um, I’m sorry?”

 

He looked up into her confusion. “What colour? It doesn’t have to have colour, I was think something real dark so you only really see it in the shading.”

 

Blinking in surprise, she moved to his side to peer at what he’d sketched. The sudden churn of nerves in Mick’s gut came as a surprise, it wasn’t often that he actually cared what people thought of his art. With customers it ultimately didn’t matter if he liked the finished product, as long as they did, so he was more than happy to chop and change his designs in any way they asked. Even personal stuff was more for him than anyone else, so what did it matter what they thought? Yet he couldn’t help the twist of butterflies in his stomach as this woman laid eyes on his interpretation of her vision.

 

“Oh.” That same look of wonder appeared on her face and Mick couldn’t have stopped his happy little smile if he tried. “It’s...perfect. Maybe...blue for the forget-me-nots, purple for the sweet peas? Dark, like you said?”

 

“Great. Where do you want it?” She startled a little at his question.

 

“Um, I guess I always figured I’d put it on my back. Over one of my shoulder blades.”

 

“This size ok?”

 

“Yeah…” She peered at him skeptically. “You’re not...you’re not suggesting I get this now?”

 

He shrugged. “I didn’t have anything planned for tonight. This’ll only take a couple hours.” He didn’t know why he really wanted her to say yes, for some reason he really wanted to see the finished design on her flawless alabaster skin. He watched her take a deep breath, clearly debating internally. Finally, she met his eyes, a spark of courage in her eyes.

 

“Ok.” She nodded, squaring her shoulders. “No time like the present.”

 

That spark in her eyes was doing things to him. Mick isn’t even mildly surprised at himself when he quoted her a price under half what he’d usually charge. Time passed quickly as he got her to sign the standard paperwork and set up everything he’d need. She seemed a little dazed by everything herself when she finally sat down in the chair and he gave her the standard pre-tattoo spiel.

 

“Don’t got a problem with needles?” he thought to ask.

 

“Not historically.” 

 

“You’ll be fine. You never know, you might like it. A lot of people do.”

 

‘I’ll take you’re word for it.”

 

He chuckled, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. “Uh, your shirt. You’ll need to…” He gestured, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Usually the casual baring of skin in his line of work wasn’t a problem, but once again, this woman, Caitlin according to her paperwork, was drawing all kinds of strange reactions out of him. Thankfully, she understood what he meant, unbuttoning her blouse and half removing it  to bare one shoulder. Mentally shaking himself, Mick got into the mindset he needed, efficiently tracing the reference image onto his canvas before finally switching on his gun. He heard her sharp intake of breath and saw the tension lock in her shoulders.

 

“Just relax,” he murmured, trying to be as soothing as possible. “If you ever need me to stop, just say the word.”

 

“Were you nervous when you got your first tattoo?” she asked. Mick huffed a chuckle.

 

“I was an idiot when I got my first tattoo. Did it myself with some ink and a bent needle.”

 

“That...does not sound sanitary.” She cringed a little at the thought.

 

“That’ll be why it got infected. OK, you ready?” With another deep breath, she nodded. She gasped when the needle touched her skin, but didn’t otherwise react.

 

“What was it of? You’re first tattoo?” Her voice was a touched strained, unsurprisingly.

 

“Was supposed to be a flame. Was a grey blob after the infection was treated. Covered it up myself once I got into the trade. I don’t really consider it my first, though.”

 

“Oh? What do you consider your first, then?”

 

“The phoenix on my back.” He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s looking at the phoenix on the wall again. “First tattoo I got done by someone who knew what the hell they were doing.”

 

“Why a phoenix? If you don’t mind me asking?” Her voice was becoming less strained, likely distracted by their conversation.

 

“Same reason you’re gettin’ these flowers. A reminder of what I lost and that everything changes eventually. And that it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

 

“Rebirth,” she agreed, nodding to herself. “Did you design it yourself?”

 

“Yep. Modelled that one up there off it too.”

 

“You painted that? It’s beautiful. And you’ve got that on your back? It must be huge.”

 

“Yeah, it is. Took days to finish. And they’re not exactly the same. He is the flame that burns and destroys, she is what rises from the ashes. They’re made of different things, but they only exist in tandem.”

 

“Like Yin and Yang?”

 

“Yeah.” He realised he’d gone off on a tangent a little there. “Sorry, I tend to get a little...poetic when I talk about my art.”

 

“No, it’s ok,” she assured him. “It’s your work, and you’re clearly passionate about it. You didn’t put a phoenix on your wall just because it looked cool, you did it because it clearly means something important to you.” She sounded sincere and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. Most people just zoned out when he started rambling about symbolism.

 

“It also looks really cool,” he said finally, lightening the moment.

 

“I can’t argue with that,” she conceded cheerfully.

 

They chatted as he worked, and Mick found himself sharing stories about some of the shit he and Len had gotten up to with one too many drinks in their systems. She responded in kind, sharing anecdotes about some of the crazy schemes her friends had dragged her into. They commiserate over the pros and cons of employing one’s friends, a trap they’d both fallen into. He learned she’d inherited her shop from her aunt, reluctantly at first but she’d come to love it, managing her hours so she could still work on her botanical experiments without neglecting the shop. He told her how he’d worked his arse off to be able to start his own business, apparently with a lot of help from his best friend who happened to own the bar down the street. It surprised them both when he mentioned he was nearly done, it felt like barely any time had passed at all.

 

As he talked her through the aftercare, Mick felt a new twist of nerves in his stomach. He could see her giddiness over what she’d just done. Mick was happy too, in his opinion the finished tattoo was even better than his initial drawing. Her skin was a fantastic canvas, and he privately hoped she was the kind of person who couldn’t stop at one. He wanted to see her again, there was no point in denying it to himself. There was a spark in her that appealed to the artist in him and he already had a couple of ideas for new projects kicking around his brain after a spending of a few short hours with her.

 

With everything finished up, he was just working up the courage to ask if she wanted to get dinner with him when his phone rang obnoxiously loudly.

 

“What?” he answered, a little more tersely than he normally would.

 

“You’re needed at the Rogues Gallery!” Lisa’s voice demanded a little shrilly. Something crashed in the background.

 

“What? Why?” He didn’t remember making plans to meet her or anyone else at Len’s bar tonight.

 

“There is a full blown bar fight happening and the new bouncer just got knocked cold! Get your ass down here!”

 

“On my way.” He hung up, giving Caitlin an apologetic look. “Sorry, got an emergency.”

 

“I heard. Don’t worry about me, go help your friend.” They both paused when they stepped outside, him to lock the door and her to speak. “Thank you for this. I’ll see you ‘round?” He’s pretty sure it wasn’t wishful thinking that made the parting question sound hopeful.

 

“Don’t doubt it. You know where to find me if you ever want any more ink.”

 

“You’ll be my first port of call. Good luck with the bar fight.”

  
Reminded of his mission, Mick took off towards Len’s bar with a call of thanks over his shoulder. Despite his disappointment at the untimely interruption, he felt lighter. She had a point, they worked right next to each other. He would definitely see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like how this turned out.
> 
> Inspiration for Caitlin's tattoo: http://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/1IVfy2bH1QnxS9p16sCZxg/o.jpg


End file.
